


Thicker than Blood

by Mistflyer1102



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a routine assassination turns deadly, he soon finds himself as the target.</p><p>Even though the gunsights aren’t trained on his back</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to _Thicker than Blood! _This fic was inspired by a collaborative 00Q blog by the lovely jamesbondisafuckingnerd, searloc, charlesbernardbarton, and repulsorsandreactors, and written with their consent. I hope you enjoy the story, and I will see you again next time! :)__
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_Two at the front door, three in the lobby, and only one guarding the room upstairs._

Without risking another glance around the casino lobby, still crowded despite the late hour, James Bond adjusted his jacket and returned his attention to the task at hand, watching the casino cashier gather the last of the requested chips and then spread them out before her. She quietly recounted them before stacking the chips again and carrying them over to him. “One hundred thousand, as requested,” she said, sliding the chips through the grate over to Bond. “Will that be all? We _are_ having a special event tonight, no house limits on select card games until the last rounds for the evening.” She smiled, and said, “Including poker, sir, as that is a favorite among our patrons.”

 _Does she remember?_ “Which is precisely why my wife insisted on holding the pocketbook this evening. Thank you, however, for letting me know for if I change my mind. Are the games being held in the Salon Privé upstairs?” Bond asked as he gathered the chips and placed them into a pocket, leaning against the marble counter.

She shook her head. “That room is available only by reservation, and a private party has already requested it for the evening,” she said, glancing up the grand staircase. “Simply let us know ahead of time if you wish to reserve the room in the future.”

Bond merely nodded. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said before turning to leave, careful not to look at the numerous navy-uniformed bodyguards in sight. _Best to remain unseen now, to avoid being identified later._

“You’re welcome, Mr. Beech. I hope you enjoy your stay with us here at Casino Royale this evening,” the cashier said, smiling when Bond paused to glance back at her

He tilted his head once in acknowledgement, winking in her direction before turning back to face the evening crowd.  “Excuse me,” he murmured, sliding between several people, a navy suit catching his eye and forced him to move abruptly to the right and accidentally step on a woman’s foot. “Apologies, ma’am,” he said, catching a flash of blond hair out of the corner of his eye as she turned the other way in confusion. Bond hovered a moment, leaning close to the woman in case he needed a cover, as he watched the bodyguard frown while scanning the room— _where is your master?_ —until the guard gave up and moved to the other side of the staircase, tilting his head as he studied the other half of the front entry hall. Bond took his opportunity to slip past the guard, straightening his shoulders as he entered the next room and scanning the numerous roulette tables until he spotted his evening companion sitting at one of the tables, mouth pursed in thought and fingers toying with the folds of her blue gown as she watched the croupier spin the wheel.

“You look _stunning_ tonight, my dear,” Bond murmured, feeling her tilt her head briefly as he rested a hand on her barely covered shoulder. He bowed long enough to kiss the red-gold hair covering the earpiece and their only link to Q-Branch. A gentle caress, and he slid into the empty chair beside her, resting an elbow on the table so that he could face both her and the general activity behind her back.

“I’d be even more charmed if I knew what my odds were for tonight,” 004 said, leaning forward for a chaste kiss. “I’m hoping for something more exciting. Roulette is not my game, but Madame Émile seems to enjoy it well enough,” she said, discreetly casting a glance over her shoulder. Bond followed her line of sight to see the mark’s wife sitting at another table nearby, her glittery dress visible even in the dim light of the casino room. Three of her husband’s navy-suited guards hovered over her shoulders, and he frowned— _where is her husband?_ —until 004 whispered, “Rat’s information about the fall-out between her and her husband seem accurate, I haven’t seen the good monsieur all evening, but she’s been down here ever since we arrived.”

“Well, your odds are three to one if we stay down here,” Bond murmured, taking one of the new chips and tossing it onto the board for the next round before pressing a handful into 004’s open and expectant palm. “Unfortunately, even I don’t know where the pay-off is, so we may need to re-examine our strategy,” he said, leaning forward to take 004’s drink, sipping from the glass as her brow furrowed in silent disapproval. She didn’t reply immediately, instead placed her chip on an open square before turning back to face Bond.

“Well, if neither of us have seen Monsieur Émile all night, we should probably ask the one person who may know,” 004 whispered back with a discreet head jerk towards Madame Émile as she took her glass back from Bond. She nodded once to the croupier’s questioning glance before she gestured to her own chip. Glancing at the person behind Bond, she leaned forward and said, “Q said that someone has strengthened the cyber-security of the casino and hotel, so he’s blind and deaf until he and his team can get into the networks.”

“Do you think someone cut off Q’s route into the system because Émile was warned?” Bond asked, sipping the drink as 004 frowned.

“Probably. Émile has to suspect a tail, he arranged for the deaths of three government officials and the American ambassador. He’d be an idiot not to suspect something,” 004 said, looking up in time to see the roulette ball fall into its slot. She sighed, rubbing her temples with two fingers before she turned back to Bond. “If someone deliberately cut Q off, then that means that either an informant talked or Émile finally learned something from Silva and Quantum and decided to be cautious.”

“So we now know to proceed carefully, but keep with the plan. Your earring should be good enough for catching evidence,” Bond said, speaking not just to her in that moment. “I haven’t seen any familiar Americans yet, so we may be able to get to him first,” he said, tossing one more chip onto the board before passing another to the dealer, catching 004’s eye with a discreet nod. “Come dear, the show is about the start in a few minutes,” he said, making sure to catch the eye of one of the guards as he offered his hand, which she accepted. “Do you want to call the sitter and check on the children first?” he asked aloud, moving as though to pick up her forgotten purse and placing himself between her and the guests behind him. He fumbled with the purse straps for a moment, buying her a few precious seconds to discreetly rearrange her gown around the knife strapped to her thigh. He straightened again and offered the purse when she finished, and said, “We didn’t call last night.”

“Hm, we should do that outside then, it’s too noisy here,” she said as Bond offered his elbow, ducking close for a kiss as she slipped an arm through his own and leaned against him. “There’s also plenty of witnesses, yet none with Madame Émile. In other words, please be careful,” she whispered, facing forward to the main doors. “Be nice to her, hm? She’s already going to have a dead husband by the time we leave here, a broken heart isn’t going to help her very much.”

“If she has a broken heart, chances are likely it won’t be because I left her,” Bond muttered back, slowly exhaling to prepare himself for the eventual seduction followed by what he suspected would be an assassination attempt. Annette Émile had her lovers and manipulation, but she also disliked losing her battles, and Bond had no intention of losing tonight. _At least Q won’t have to listen to this one, he can rest a little easier not knowing that I most likely got knifed again_. A quick glance to 004, who held the sole link to Q-Branch, and Bond turned his focus to the mission at hand. _The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go home_. “Ready when you are,” he finally said, tightening his elbow once.

“Try not to get killed,” she said, shifting her weight away from him, hand flexing on his forearm as she silently counted her steps towards the doors that led to the main lobby. Bond glanced to his left as he moved away from her just an inch, to give her the room she needed to ‘trip’ and fall, creating her excuse to return to the hotel room. “Q will send a text in twenty minutes, he’s hoping to be done by then. Be safe,” she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He gave a barely perceptible nod, feeling her fingers gently squeeze his forearm as she shifted her weight to her opposite foot from Bond. _Five, four, three, two—_

“Excuse me, Mr. Bond?”

Bond released 004, allowing her to recover her balance as he turned to face the speaker, a red-jacketed casino employee who smiled apologetically at the two of them despite the beads of sweat along the top of his forehead. “Yes, that’s me. How may I help you?” Bond asked casually, covering up the slight twist in his gut with a raised brow and a faint frown when he caught sight of one of Madame Émile’s bodyguards watching the exchange instead of his charge.

The employee nodded respectfully towards 004, who had returned to Bond’s side, slipping an arm through his elbow. “My employer, the casino owner, Monsieur Lefèvre, wishes to invite you and your wife upstairs to a game of poker. He regrets to have missed you during your last visit here, back in 2006, and is excited to know that you have finally returned,” he said, smiling as Bond’s heart momentarily froze at the memory of his last visit. “He insists that the two of you join him, he wishes to introduce you to some of his friends and congratulate you on your, er, victory against Le Chiffre,” the employee added, glancing between Bond and 004.

“I accept his invitation,” Bond said without hesitation, jaw twitching when he felt 004’s fingers dig into his forearm in warning. He glanced at her with a smile before turning back to the employee. “We would be honored to meet him,” he added with a slight nod, already re-calculating his approach to Madame Émile. _Either a distraction or an excuse, depending on what Lefèvre really wants._

“Please follow me,” the employee said, bowing once before gesturing for the two of them to follow him.

Bond’s mouth twitched when the employee slipped past them and headed towards the doors that led to the main lobby, but nearly paused when he realized that the employee was leading them to the main staircase. He made brief eye contact with one of the two guards standing near the bottom, unable to shake the sinking feeling in his gut. 004, sensing his hesitation, rested her head against his shoulder, bumping him with her hip in silent reminder to rest a hand around her waist. “Did you check in with your real name by accident, or did someone recognize you?” she murmured as soon as they had started walking up the stairs past the first set of guards milling around on the ground floor.

“Must have been the latter, but frankly I don’t see anyone that I recognize. Mathis told me that Monsieur Lefèvre had been unable to attend the game as a spectator because if Le Chiffre was caught, he didn’t want to be caught aiding and abetting a known criminal,” Bond replied quietly, surprised that he still remembered as much. “But Lefèvre apparently has a history of associating with smaller kettle fish, if you will, due to the lower risk of capture they presented. As far as Lefèvre and Le Chiffre were concerned, I was just another power broker looking to earn more money,” he added, inclining his head once to an uncounted guard that waited at the top of the stairs. _We knew this could happen, but even then, there was nothing to link me back to Six._

He still couldn’t relax.

“This way, sir, ma’am,” the employee said, waving away the guard at the Salon Privé entrance before heading into the small hallway, Bond and 004 close behind.

Bond glanced back once, just to make sure that the guards weren’t following them, but the man had just resumed his post at the door, the outline of a firearm barely visible through his jacket. Bond turned his attention back towards the metal detector, staffed by another of Émile’s guards, swallowing back the odd sense of déjà vu of walking down the same path with a beautiful woman on his arm and a mission in hand. The employee silently bowed before turning back to the door, leaving Bond and 004 with the guard. Feeling oddly less prepared than he had eight years ago, Bond quietly surrendered his mobile, watch, and modified Walther PPK to the guard standing at the metal detector. He felt the tension leave his shoulders only after walking through the detector, even if he only received the watch back. He glanced back in time to see the guard examining the Walther before tucking it away.

_Good luck trying to use it._

_DWEET! DWEET!_

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I supposed to give you my purse? Apologies,” 004 said, offering her purse to the guard, who scowled as he took it. Turning up nothing but a mobile, keys, wallet, a makeup case, and a handful of Euro coins, the guard grunted before shoving it all back into back in and pushing it towards her. “Thank you,” she said, with a gentle smile before rejoining Bond, who casually draped a hand across her lower waist to make sure the knife holster was still in place.

Another red-jacketed employee bowed when the couple arrived to the game room, and turned to face the occupants. Bond quickly yet discreetly noted the unfamiliar individuals at the table; two women and four men, two of the latter with graying hair while the youngest sat with his arm intertwined with the brunette woman. He tilted his head when he recognized Valérian Émile, the once-missing mission objective, sitting between the blond woman and the casino owner, who rose from his place at the head of the table as Bond and 004 entered. “Monsieur Lefèvre, may I present Mr. and Mrs. James Bond,” the employee said as Lefèvre stepped off the dais and approached them.

“Mr. Bond, it is an honor to meet you at last,” he said, shaking Bond’s hand before he turned to 004. “My dear lady, trust me when I say you married an extraordinary man. He defied one of the greatest criminal bankers in the modern century,” Lefèvre said as he kissed the back of her hand, grinning before he turned back to Bond, who inclined his head once. “Mr. Bond, I was sorry I never got the chance to congratulate you on your win against Le Chiffre all those years ago, but I am glad to finally have the opportunity,” he said, gesturing back to the table. “Come, come, there’s plenty of room—”

“Actually, now is an excellent time for me to leave,” the blond woman said, standing up as she smoothed over her gown. She passed one chip to the dealer and two to the brunette, who frowned. “My flight leaves in two hours and I assured my employer that I would return home in a timely manner once I had the information he requested,” she said as an attendant appeared with a thick fur-lined coat in hand. “Apparently, he’s under the impression that _all_ of his employees must follow his rules regarding travel, which is the one thing over which I constantly disagree with him,” she said, earning a few chuckles and soft laughs from the brunette and the graying man.

“He wouldn’t get anything done then,” Lefèvre pointed out as the woman zipped her coat up. “Safe travels, my dear, and do tell your employer that he should consider coming down here once in a while, the Mediterranean air might be easier on his joints and his health. He isn’t getting any younger,” he added, arching a brow as she walked past him.

“One can hope he’ll accept, but I personally wouldn’t count on it,” she said, glancing briefly at Bond before she turned sharply towards him again, a frown crossing her face as he made eye contact with her and nodded once in acknowledgement. Her glance slid to 004 a few moments later, but Bond didn’t miss the shift in expression from confusion to casual dismissal before she left the room altogether.

Lefèvre sighed, reclaiming Bond’s attention. “Come Mr. Bond, please sit down. We are about to start the next round, would you like something to drink while the dealer reshuffles?” he asked, gesturing to two empty chairs on the graying man’s right side.

“If this is a private party, Monsieur Lefèvre, I do not mind speaking with you in the morning,” Bond said, glancing at the brunette’s frown before returning his attention to Lefèvre. _There’s still time to salvage this, especially since we now have visual confirmation of the mark_. “I appreciate the invitation, but I do not wish to intrude on what appears to be a private meeting,” he said, leaning back as though to nudge 004 back towards the door.

“Nonsense, we’re all friends here. I read your files when you first entered Le Chiffre’s competition, and it appears that you carry significant weight within England’s economic industry, through your work at Universal Exports. Yet, you are still amendable to looking the other way with the right incentive,” Lefèvre said, signaling for a waiter before gesturing for Bond and 004 to sit down. “Am I correct in that assumption, or have you changed your position since then?” he asked as Bond sat down between 004 and the graying man.

“No, no, you’re quite correct,” Bond said, leaning forward to get a better look at Lefèvre. “I actually left Universal Exports recently, attaining the government position of senior manager and overseer of all national import operations. In fact, that’s the reason my wife and I are here at Casino Royale, to celebrate,” he said, pretending not to notice a gleam of interest in Émile’s eye. “Although, I have to admit that I would have rather attained the position under…better circumstances,” he said, glancing at Lefèvre, who nodded, folding his hands together on top of the table.

“Yes, Mr. Roberts was rather…firm against our, er, new import suggestions, but perhaps you may be more…willing to listen to our proposals?” Émile said, sipping his wine as the dealer began to shuffle the cards, pausing only when Lefèvre whispered something into his ear.

“Perhaps. Depends on what I will receive for laying my career on the line,” Bond said, glancing at the waiter who hovered at his shoulder. “Vodka martini, shaken not stirred,” he said, turning back to Émile long enough incline his head before leaning back in his seat far enough to keep an eye on the bartender and his drink. “My silence does have a price, after all.”

“Doesn’t everything?” Émile said, grinning even as the graying man coughed. “What now, Dawson? We were literally _just_ discussing this, don’t tell me you want to back out _again_ ,” he snapped, the graying man raising his hands as though in surrender.

“Oh no, no, not at all. I just wanted to ask Mr. Bond if perhaps we have met before, you do look rather familiar,” Dawson said, waving Émile’s words off as he turned to Bond, who felt a jolt of unfamiliar panic as 004 fell still where she leaned on his arm, her hand resting on his knee. He discreetly placed a hand over hers in warning as Dawson asked, “Have we? It would have been years ago, my wife was still alive and you complimented her good health, I think we were all in either Moscow or St. Petersburg.

“I don’t think we have met, Mr. Dawson,” Bond said, almost certain that he would remember Dawson in either of those two cities; he hadn’t been sent to Russia in a year, and he highly doubted he’d met any of the individuals in front of him during his time in the Navy or at MI6. “I believe that we would definitely remember meeting each other if that was the case,” he said, hoping that Q would already be searching for any records on Gabriel Dawson.

“You seem very confident in that, Mr. Bond,” the brunette said, leaning back in her chair across from him despite tense shoulders. She tilted her head at him, lips pursing thoughtfully. “Why is that so? Most people tend to forget meeting others less than a week later,” she said, sipping her drink as she studied him carefully.

“I have a very good memory, so I do not forget to repay my debts,” Bond replied, not missing the way that Lefèvre and Émile glanced at each other. “That includes those that don’t technically exist, such as if I were to hypothetically do business with all of you, Miss…?”

“ _Mrs._ Lara Hollins,” she corrected, nodding to the man beside her. “This is my husband, Marcus, my partner in every sense of the word,” she said as Marcus reached over the table to shake hands with Bond.

“Pleasure,” Marcus said, shaking hands with Bond before leaning back so that the dealer could start passing the cards out to the players. “Lara and I work at Findell Telecommunications in New York, we’re based primarily in the Northeast,” he said as he pushed his wife’s cards towards her. “We occasionally branch out when the incentive is good enough,” he said, winking as Lara sipped her wine, never looking away from Bond.

“Yes, well, the backer of said incentive will want to know about the newest development, and soon,” Lefèvre said, raising his glass towards Bond as the waiter returned and set the vodka martini down in front of him. Bond merely smiled as he raised his own glass in response.

“I’ve got it!”

004 flinched when Dawson slammed a fist onto the table, and Bond didn’t miss her sharp inhale. He turned to Dawson, who spread his hands with a broad grin as he looked around the table before turning to Bond. “I know where I’ve seen you before, Mr. Bond, and I do apologize. I mistook you for Miss Kuznetsova’s employer, he and I met frequently before the attempt on his life left him crippled,” Dawson said, shaking his head as he laughed, Émile rolling his eyes as Lefèvre chuckled. “You look similar to how he did all those years ago. He’s something of a recluse nowadays, must be his old age,” Dawson said, glancing at Émile, who shrugged.

“That or he just doesn’t want to deal with old enemies. He might live a little longer for it,” Émile said, shrugging with a shoulder before he turned to Bond, allowing the dealer to finish setting up the game. He picked up his cards, and then said, “I suppose you’d like to hear the terms of our proposal? I promise it will be worth your while.”

“Excuse me, Monsieur Lefèvre?”

Bond looked up to find an employee hovering at the entrance, eyes darting around the table before settling on Lefèvre. The casino owner grumbled incoherently under his breath before he said, “Yes, what is it?”

“There’s a phone call waiting for a Mr. Bond at the front desk, from London. The caller says it’s an urgent message about Mr. Bond’s trip, but refused to divulge any more details regarding the matter,” the employee explained, glancing at first Dawson, and then Bond before looking back at his employer. “I do apologize for the interruption.

“I’ll get it. Darling, play for me, hm?” Bond said, taking another drink of his martini before offering it to 004, who reluctantly took the glass. “I’ll return in a few minutes,” he assured her before leaning down, kissing her on the temple. He straightened as he turned to Lefèvre, and said, “Please do excuse me, sir.”

“By all means,” Lefèvre said, gesturing towards the door. “We can wait,” he added with a smile.

Bond headed out of the Salon Privé, the guard near the metal detector now gone. The guard at the entrance was still present, but was a different man than from before. He didn’t acknowledge Bond as the latter went to the gold bannister, scanning the room as he approached the stairs. The six guards were at their usual posts, but he noted that they had changed since he’d gone to the Salon Privé. Three more guards casually milled around the crowd in plain clothes, the outline of poorly concealed firearms visible in jacket pockets and belt holsters underneath the jacket hem. Bond only paused halfway down the stairs when he realized that four plainclothes were hovering around the front desk, where another casino guest used the phone.

 _Something's not right_.

Bond began to backtrack up the stairs, turning around to face two more guards. He stilled the moment he felt a barrel pressed against his lower ribcage, the metal nearly jammed against bone. He glanced up, raising a brow when he realized that the gunman was also the same guard at the metal detector, and slowly raised his hands in surrender, never looking away from him.

“Good evening, Mr. Bond, you may put your hands down now,” the gunman said, smiling pleasantly as he pressed the gun harder against Bond, who only moved slightly as the muzzle pressed against his rib. “I hear stomach wounds are painful, so shall we go quietly to avoid distressing your pretty wife and any of your MI6 handlers that may be present?” he suggested, his words sending ice down Bond’s veins.

 _How the fuck did he know?_  “You’re quite right. Very well then, lead the way,” Bond said, suddenly mindful of the numerous civilians milling around downstairs-- _one stray bullet is all it takes_. He lowered his hands and calmly turned around to allow the man to prod him forward with the gun.

_Five minutes, Scarlett, don’t let me down._

004 arrived in three.

Bond had a second to duck before all hell broke loose in the casino.


	2. Chapter 2

Five minutes into the unexpected gunfight, all of the audio and visual feeds in Q-Branch abruptly dissolved into static.

Exhaling sharply through clenched teeth, Q made a few adjustments to the decryption program he’d set up on Casino Royale’s networks before lowering the microphone of his headset and turning around in his seat. “What’s wrong with the connection?” he asked, voice steady as he watched R move to another workstation to pull up the feeds monitoring the agents’ vital signs. A moment’s hesitation, and then he flinched when 004’s sharp voice finally disappeared into blaring static. “I’ve just lost my connection with double-oh four,” he said, reaching up to fiddle with the few buttons on the right ear and lower the volume.

“Current _cause_ of the attack is unknown, but we’ve determined that it’s a precise one. According to our satellite maps, the surrounding city and casino lights, as well as all electronic devices, are still functioning. I just lost track of both agents altogether,” R said, stepping back even as his screens went dark. “No audio, visuals, not even their vitals.”

 _We’ll never know if James or Scarlett are dead until it’s too late._ Q nodded at the unspoken words, swallowing back a tinge of anxiety before signaling Marcela from her workstation. “Continue working on decrypting the casino firewalls, we need visuals of some kind,” he said, gesturing for her to take his seat as he stood up and glanced around the room for a free monitor. “Tavers, please assist R in locating the agents. If our satellite feeds are still working, you both should be able to obtain visuals,” he said before leaning down in front of his monitor. _Please don’t let the blackout affect us so badly that we can’t get our own messages out._ He pulled up one of his messaging programs, logging himself in before searching through the list of MI6 substations. “Anne, do we have access to local CCTV?” he asked, brow furrowing as the loading symbol appeared on his screen.

“Ah, no, the jam is focused on us. We only have satellite,” Anne said, grimacing when Q looked up at her. “They’re not trying to hack us, more like trying to isolate us…I think it may have started when we tried to get into the casino firewalls, I have never seen this code before,” she said, eyes widening at something on her screen before she suddenly lifted her hands from the keyboard as though in surrender.

 _Damn. They knew we were coming, there’s no other explanation._ Q turned sharply back to his own screen just as it blackened out, and he blinked when the home screen reappeared a moment later. “Marcela, cut the lines. Anne, please divert the code onto an isolated server until the connection is lost. If we weren’t in the middle of a firefight, then I would try hacking them back, but we do have two agents to track down,” Q said, careful to keep his voice even. He leaned back and pulled his mobile out, fingers tightening briefly when he saw the words ‘NO SERVICE’ blinking back at him. Forcing himself to take slow breaths, he switched his headset back on in an attempt to reconnect with the feeds while reaching for the monitor, re-accessing the computer’s system as he recalled semi-legal codes he hadn’t used since his teen years. It took him a few minutes to navigate his way through the system back to the familiar codes of the MI6 firewalls, only pausing when he located the string of numbers protecting the communications feeds— _he’s going to unravel us from there._

“Sir, we can’t get in touch with M...we can try again once we get the feeds back up,” R said from his station as Q located the one spot in the line where the numbers kept fluctuating too rapidly to be a normal program bug. _Aha, there you are._

“Good. First, though, re-establish communications with the substation commander in Montenegro and alert him to the compromised agents, he can arrange the extraction from there,” Q muttered under his breath as he managed to regain a little control over the affected code. He began to change the individual numbers back to the correct ones before placing layers of embedded code over the repairs to block the hacker, slowly moving down the line of code.

"Sir!"

“Everything all right back there?” he asked without turning around.

“Yes—I’ve got us out of the Casino Royale networks, and reinforced our own cyber defenses,” Marcela piped up a moment later, catching Q’s attention. “I can take over patching up the communications systems.”

“No, focus on the firewall and perhaps locating the hacker. Make sure that R and Henry don’t need further assistance first, please,” Q said as he glanced at the clock, trying to rein back his impatience when he saw that nearly twenty minutes had passed with no word from Montenegro. T _hree numbers left, and the hacker will be out of our systems._ Q could see that the hacker was trying to expand the problem forward as Q worked backwards, the other already struggling to get through the embedded layers that Q had left in his wake.

_SCREEE—_

“Fuck!” Q yanked his headset off as loud static abruptly flooded the headphones. Another staff member nearly collided into his own desk when all monitors focused on the agents flared to life without warning, but Marcela remained hunched over her seat, still typing when Q glanced over to check on her. He pulled his headset back on and turned the volume down, and then reached for the keyboard, typing a few commands to connect his feed to the branch speakers. Pulling his headset out of the board, he was quietly relieved to find that the green status light remained steady even as his team fell silent. Switching to what he hoped was a still-secure frequency, Q typed substation codes before pressing the audio button. “Commander Ross, do you copy?” he asked, keeping an eye on the status light.

Silence. Q looked up when he heard the faint squeak of a door, but relaxed when he saw that it was M, wearing a disgruntled expression he usually saved for the Double-O agents. Q reached for the panel again to switch to another frequency, but the radio clicked several times. _“I copy loud and clear, Quartermaster. Received your notifications about the packages and have prepared for their arrival seven minutes ago._ _Both are now present and fine, with only a few dents from transit,_ ”Ross reported, the tension barely leaking out of Q’s shoulders as he bowed his head forward.

“Thank you, Commander Ross. I am glad that the notification went through after all,” Q said a moment later, ignoring both his staff’s curious expressions and the uneasy twist in his gut. “I will arrange for a flight home for the two of them, M wants to debrief them as soon as possible given the situation of what prompted this attack,” he said, careful to keep his voice steady.

_“Of course, Quartermaster. Any cleanup I should take care of out here?”_

Q was silent for a moment, glancing first at M before turning to R. “If you can without raising suspicion,” he began slowly, catching M’s nod of confirmation, “Please acquire the security tapes from Casino Royale from the last four hours and send them to London by private courier,” he finished, sitting back down in his chair.

_“Very well, Quartermaster, consider it done. Anything else?”_

“Your utmost discretion, of course,” Q said, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when the agents’ steady vital signs reappeared near him.

_“Of course, sir. Good night, sir.”_

“Good night, Commander Ross, and thank you.” Q signed off the comms, checking the other feeds to ensure that only the ones monitoring the agents were still active before he collapsed into his chair, pulling his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose. “We need to keep looking for that hacker, start with analyzing his or her patterns of attack. Did we at least catch a sample of his technique?” he said, turning his chair around to catch R’s nod of confirmation. “And no, I’m still trying to figure out what the hell just happened,” he said as M approached his desk, conversations slowly returning to the room.

“That saves me the trouble of asking, then,” M said, frowning when Q sat up in his chair, pulling himself closer to the desk before waking the monitor up again to access his personal database of current and past mission records. “I was in the middle of a video conversation with Director Fellows from Five, we were just discussing the recent attacks and he said he wanted to ask a favor when the line went dead,” he said, moving to stand behind Q and lean forward to study the screen over his shoulder.

“Someone recognized Bond from the poker game with Le Chiffre, invited him to a private party, and one of the attendees must have figured out that Bond was MI6. Papava escaped scrutiny until she came to Bond’s rescue,” Q said, frowning as he pulled up the mission files and debriefing reports from 2006. “Then before we could assist them, a hacker shut our communication feeds down, which is why you lost your connection with Fellows. However, the real problem to all of this is that when Bond went to that poker game, he was representing a power broker from Universal Exports with a seal-tight story. One of our three informants for this mission must have talked to someone at the poker table,” he said, leaning forward to better scan the text.

“I knew we shouldn’t have sent Bond, but since double-oh nine was in Medical for the Santa Fe mishap, I didn’t have anyone else to send with double-oh four,” M muttered under his breath as he leaned over Q’s shoulder. “Do you think Quantum was present tonight? They were the only ones who knew Bond was MI6 around that time,” he asked after a moment.

“We do have audio records of a woman being present when Bond entered, but left moments later,” Q replied, typing in another few commands to pull up the logs in question. “Clues point to her being the employee of the group’s financer, all we have is her surname of Kuznetsova,” he added, typing in a few commands before he opened a new email to M. “I’ll send you a copy of the logs for your perusal.”

“Also send me a complete list of all personnel present, including those you have working in Archives,” M said, glancing at the door that led to the hall connecting Archives and the R&D labs to Technical Services. “Accountability, if you will.”

“Then don’t be surprised when double-oh one’s name appears, he returned home yesterday and I needed someone to do a bit of heavy lifting in Archives,” Q said as he pulled up the personnel lists, stifling an unexpected yawn. Rubbing his temple with a hand, he copied the logs and personnel lists and then sent the email to M. “Anything else before I start the usual post-mission wrap up, sir?” he asked, turning to face M.

“No…no, that will be it. Get some sleep, Quartermaster, and I’ll see you in the morning,” M said, raising a brow when Q absently shook his head slightly in an effort to remain awake. “I’ll be back down in thirty minutes, and you had better be gone or I’ll convince O’Reilly to give you a short medical leave,” he warned before draping his still-damp coat over one arm.

“Noted.” Q closed his eyes briefly, listening to M walk away towards the exit—undoubtedly to his own office to review the information—and then slowly exhaled when he heard the door close. Leaning forward, he logged himself out of the computer and then pushed his chair back. “I’m going to rescue Reardon before he terrorizes whomever is on duty with him, and then I’ll be right back to start the post-mission reports. R, the floor is yours for the evening,” he said, glancing at the other man as he stood up.

“If you want, sir, I can start the wrap-up, I’m on duty as it is,” R offered, shrugging one shoulder when Q raised a brow. “I can email it to you in the morning.”

“All right, thank you. I won’t anticipate the double-ohs immediately submitting theirs, so we have time. M will be busy as it is with those logs. Good evening, and I’ll want to check on double-oh five and double-oh six right before I leave, so please have their missions up on the monitors by the time I return,” Q said, nodding once to R before leaving the room, slipping out into the hall that led to Archives and R&D.

He waited until he heard the faint click of the door sliding into place behind him before he leaned against the nearest wall, bowing his head as the adrenaline rush finally died and the remaining tension drained from his soldiers. _James is alive, he's fine, he's coming home. We knew the risks, we know of the worst that can happen, but that doesn’t stop the helplessness I feel sometimes when there’s nothing more I can do to help him._ Q slowly breathed for a few moments, leaning back to stretch his spine a moment later. He adjusted his cardigan, and then headed down the hall, switching off his mobile a few moments before he arrived to the Archives door.

“Is everything going all right?” he asked, pushing the door open in time to hear numerous, soft swears echoing through the storage room. Frowning, he pushed aside one of the curtains arranged to partition the room. “What’s wr—”

He stopped when he saw the state of the main room.

Boxes lay upended and scattered, loose papers coating the floor in a white blanket. The scanner and document holders remained mercifully untouched, as did the few sheets still clipped into place. Q glanced past the mess to find the three assigned techs kneeling on the floor, one—Hannah—holding papers while the other— _Melvin_ —carefully organized them into stacks again. _Thank God we’re finally going digital._ He took a step back, scanning the mess before he asked, “Melvin…what exactly happened here?”

“Double-oh one got stabbed and started the avalanche…by accident of course,” Melvin said, glancing back at the shadows, a form moving a few moments later. Q furrowed his brows when Reardon limped into view, leaning heavily on what looked like a metal pipe that was folded back on one end as he walked around the three techs and towards the workstation table near Q. He then leaned forward to examine something on the table as Q walked around him to remain in sight, and then he snatched what looked like an umbrella, exchanging the pipe for it to use as a better cane. When he moved away, Q saw the lump sitting next to the laptop he hadn’t noticed earlier.

“What happened?” Q asked as Reardon looked up at his approach.

“Got stabbed by one of Bond’s cases, it was one of Major Boothroyd’s creations. I was trying to get a specific box near the top for these two, and I stuck out my leg for balance, accidentally knocking over another box,” Reardon said, leaning on the umbrella as he glanced back at the workstation table with a narrowed eye. Q followed his line of sight to see the edges of the ‘lump’, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a nondescript black case sitting near the still-open laptop, a long, thin object sticking out of the side farthest from the two of them. “Next thing I know, I’ve got a six-inch steel blade in my thigh with everything coming down around me,” he said, twisting his leg so that Q could see the bloody, torn fabric.

“I’ll disarm the case, you go to Medical,” Q said, checking his watch as he stepped aside to let Reardon pass him. _Fifteen minutes left._ “Reardon, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know the case is Bond’s?” he asked, turning to face Reardon’s retreating back.

“It’s got zero-zero-seven engraved on the side, and this would not be the first time that Bond tucked equipment away and forgot it, we _all_ did it under Major Boothroyd since he never kept as close track of the equipment as you do,” he said, shifting slightly when Q frowned at him, arching a brow a moment later. Before Q could ask him if he was hiding equipment in that moment, Reardon grimaced, shifting his weight onto his uninjured leg. “I understand that I’ll hear about the equipment later, sir, but—”

“No, no, you’re right. Go to Medical, knowing Major Boothroyd, he probably dipped the blade into something lethal and painful,” Q said, signaling Melvin over. “Help him up to Medical…or at the very least, make sure he doesn’t collapse. Tell Ellen it’s one of Boothroyd’s weapons,” he said, hastily adding the second part when Reardon growled in his throat. “I’ll remove the case, and then come back to clean up what I can before M finds me,” he said, glancing reassuringly at Hannah, who let out a small sigh of relief. “Reardon, _go_.”

“Also knowing Major Boothroyd, that case is probably still rigged,” Hannah carefully remarked as Q closed the curtain behind Melvin and Reardon.

“Which is why I’m hoping that whomever put it here had the sense to be careful,” he replied, walking over to the workstation table to better examine the case latches. A thin blade protruded from one side, the blood glistening slightly as Q knelt to examine the lining around the edges of the lid and bottom. He found the faint _007_ engraved on the hinge plating, the metal still shining where someone, most likely Reardon, had wiped away a layer of grime. Moving back to the front, Q reached out and carefully wiped away more grime with his thumb, paying close attention to the edges of the case. _Of course it’s Boothroyd’s work_. Two thin circles were on either side of the front edge— _loaded weaponry of some kind_ —and Q sighed, stepping away from the case as he wiped his hands on his trousers. “I’ll take it to the labs and try to disarm it in the morning, Melvin will be back in a few minutes. If he doesn’t arrive, tell me in the morning.”

“Of course, sir,” Hannah replied, shifting her position before going back to work.

Q gingerly rested an ear against the top of the case near the locks. No ticking. Feeling only slightly better, he picked the case up with two hands and kept it level, aware that whomever held it before him took a risk when jolting it around. He stepped around the curtains and used an elbow to open the Archives door, letting it slam close as he walked towards R&D at the end of the hall. _Too heavy to contain small firearms, yet too light for anything truly destructive_. Q felt a coil of dread twist in his gut at the thought of combing through James’s service records to locate every ‘missing’ piece of tech in an attempt to log the case’s contents back into the database.

_Only you could find a way to give me more paperwork unrelated to your current mission, while you’re gone._

He used his shoulder to bump the light switch in R&D, silently grateful that the lab staff kept the storage units near the entrance. Shifting the case to his left hand, he placed his right on the biometric security scanner, and the storage unit door slid open on noiseless hinges. He stepped into the small room, located his own bin, and then typed in his authorization codes before stepping back as the small steel door slid open with a faint hiss. Q made a mental note to fix it before slipping the case inside at an angle to accommodate the still protruding blade. A few more taps on his panel, and the small unit door closed again. Rolling his shoulders back, Q turned to leave the small room.

“Quartermaster?”

 _Shit_. Q looked up in time to see the director turning to face the opposite direction, and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir?” he asked patiently, slipping out of the small storage room as M turned to face him.

“Don’t worry, you still have five minutes,” M said, raising a brow as his eyes slid from Q to the storage unit behind him. “Aside from the two agents returning home, do we have any other double-oh operatives out the moment?" he asked, leaning back on a foot as Q closed the storage room door behind him, the panel blinking back to red when he locked it.

"Double-oh five is still undercover in Moscow," Q replied, following M when the director gestured for Q to follow him out of the labs. Q recalled the double-oh roster, as short as it was, and mentally ticked off the four who were going to be home by tomorrow morning. "Double-oh six and eight are still on loan to the CIA, and double-oh three is awaiting the kill order on the American, Henry Marshall, in Vienna," he said, keeping pace with M down the hall back towards Technical Services. He cast a guilty glance at the Archives as they walked past, instead clearing his throat to keep M's attention on him and not his techs' mishap. "Four and seven are set to return home tomorrow, I am recording their mission as scrubbed since I gave the order for their extraction instead of arranging for a second attempt against Émile."

"We may need to revise our approach with Émile once we find the leak that led to the double-ohs losing their cover," M said grimly, pausing long enough to allow Q to push the door open and let him into the main branch. Shaking his head, he turned to face Q as the other man began to move around his workstation. "In the meantime, give double-oh three the kill order, and then send him to Casino Royale to interrogate Lefévre about the deaths here in London. Send a message to double-oh five and ask him to quietly probe and try to collect information on Miss Kuznetsova, I want to know more about her and her employers," he said as Q leaned forward and pulled up his login screen. He started to type in his username and password when M said, "One other thing, Quartermaster."

Q looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. "Sir?"

"You will do that in the morning, your thirty minutes are up," M said, and Q grimaced at the reminder, carefully deleting his username and password before standing up.

"Trust me, sir, I hadn't forgotten. Good evening," he said dryly, inclining his head once towards M before glancing around the room, finally locating R near the back as the other continued to point to something at another tech's screen, evidently explaining something to her. _He's all set then._ Q then shut down his monitor, stifling a sigh as he thought of the case again. _Damage control first thing in the morning, then. With that and whatever James brings home._ He then headed to his office, gathering his coat and bag before shutting down the monitor in his own office. He then picked up the robotic toy mouse he'd been tinkering with during the day, and placed that into the outer pocket before shutting the office lights off and locking the door behind him.

_Ten hours before James comes home._


	3. Chapter 3

“Welcome back to London, Commander Bo—”

“Captain Roberts, excuse me,” Bond interrupted, ignoring the officer’s flinch as he pulled off his wet gloves and slipped them into the pockets of his black wool overcoat, ignoring the few droplets that fell from the fabric to the marble floor. He heard the _snap_ of the main entrance doors closing behind him as he approached the lifts, followed by the faint _tap, tap_ of 004’s heels as she kept near his side, albeit at a slower pace. She had taken their summons to return to London more gracefully than Bond, quietly handling the procedural destruction of the notices as Bond argued with Commander Ross in an attempt to gain a second chance while the trail was still visible. He flexed his jaw at the memory, shaking his head as he tried half-heartedly to cool his anger. _Q can’t be serious about pulling us out, not when we were that close to the mark…_

He sensed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned in time to see two MI6 Internal Security officers approaching him from the left, both men slightly crouched with their rifles drawn, but no fingers on the triggers yet. Bond took a step back while automatically reaching for a gun that wasn’t there and tensed when his hand closed around air, shifting his posture again in preparation for quick disarmament. Almost in the same moment, 004 stepped forward with her own scratched Walther drawn in her left hand. Bond stepped back to note that she had already switched her safety off and had her finger resting on the trigger before turning his attention back to the officers— _exposed flanks, the one on the right can be easily knocked off balance—_

“For the last fucking time, _stand down_!” Roberts snapped, stepping in between the four of them and turning his back to 004 as he placed a hand on the officers’ barrels and forced the weapons down towards the ground. “If you two had been paying attention to me this morning, you would know that Bond and Papava were on today’s exemption list from the Quartermaster,” Roberts said, catching one man’s collar and almost dragging him back to the other side of the lobby. “And when I give you the bloody hand signal to back off, _you back off_ or I won’t be held responsible for what happens next,” he snapped as he turned to the other guard.

“But sir—” the man tried to say, but Roberts gestured back to the other corner near the front doors

“Kevin, back to your post. If Martins needs reinforcements again, he can signal someone closer to him,” Roberts said, gesturing for him to remain silent before turning back to Bond and 004. “Agents, I do apologize about that, they just started working the regular rounds less than two days ago,” he said in a lower voice, glancing at the two of them warily before turning back to the Double-Os.

“You’ve got new recruits at the front door already?” Bond asked, raising a brow as 004 switched the safety back on and carefully re-holstered her weapon again. “I thought you usually waited to train the trigger response out of them first,” he said, raising a brow when Roberts sighed, shaking his head before he glanced at Kevin, who grimaced.

“I didn’t have much of a choice with these two today, we’re stretched thin across the premises as it is,” Roberts said, turning back to the two agents. “M sent a memo out yesterday morning asking for increased, round-the-clock security at all entry points during the next seven days, which we’re fine with, we have sufficient numbers. Then Lieutenant Evans discovered a potential entry point in the sub-levels when we were casing the building for the allocation of security teams, and we decided that until we can seal that off, we should have the senior officers down there for now,” he explained, Bond frowning as a thread of cold ice slipped through his stomach, breath quickening slightly as he immediately recalled that M only increased security when he felt that MI6 was under direct threat, and the last attack to MI6 had left dozens dead and crippled Q-Branch staff numbers.

_Q._

“Excuse me,” Bond said, turning to leave.

“Bond, wait. No one got hurt here. Well, except for Reardon, but from what I understand, that was an accident,” Roberts said, catching Bond's attention before he could take another step.

"And the Quartermaster?" Bond asked, taking a step towards Roberts as he tried to squash his irritation. Roberts merely squared his shoulders and stood his ground, shaking his head even as he glanced at 004 for a moment.

“I saw Q in the mess yesterday evening. He, M, Tanner, and R were doing some sort of strategy planning with pens and paper napkins. Or that’s what it looked like to me, anyway. I’m even not entirely sure of what happened, much less of how M and Q are handling it. I just found M’s orders sitting in my inbox yesterday morning. No one else is questioning the heightened alert level, especially Q-Branch,” he said, mouth tilted slightly downward in slight disapproval. “Although, if the mess hall rumors are anything to go by, there was a bit of a fuss, so to speak, in Q-Branch the night before last,” he added, voice soft and calm even as Bond frowned. “One of the nurses from Medical said that Reardon was injured around the same time, but no one on the night custodial staff heard gunshots in the suspected time frame. We also didn't find anything in our review of security tapes.” 

“So if I found Reardon, he’d be able to explain what happened?” Bond asked, thinking quickly; assuming he wasn’t in Medical himself, Q could be anywhere in the building. Going straight to Medical itself meant that Bond could not only check to make sure that his husband was safe—the term ‘fuss’ had a wide variety of interpretation in MI6 language—but also locate Reardon and press the sniper for any details of that night.

“Actually, Q mentioned in his email to me today, in a postscript to his exemption list, that both you and Reardon are forbidden from speaking or seeing each other for forty-eight hours, starting upon your arrival,” Roberts replied, shrugging a shoulder before he turned to face Bond this time. “He didn’t specify his reasons, however, so that’s something you’ll have to ask him,” he added, and Bond nodded before he took a step away from the security captain.

“Excuse me, then,” he said, inclining his head once towards Roberts before turning back towards the lifts, pausing long enough in his path to give 004 a chance to fall into step beside him. He glanced at her when she started to reach for the button panel, and then raised a brow when she pressed the ‘Down’ button instead of heading down the hall to Medical. “Decided to avoid O’Reilly this time?” he asked, raising a brow when she shrugged her left shoulder. He let her step onto the lift first when the doors slid noiselessly open, and then pressed the button for Q-Branch as he followed her into the car.

“O’Reilly forbids live weaponry anywhere _near_ Medical,” she replied, raising a brow as she regarded Bond. “Which means, if you kept your weapons more often, you’d have a valid excuse not to go,” she added as Bond leaned against the wall of the car. Her broken right arm twitched underneath the jacket, and Bond saw a ghost of pain cross her face before she steeled herself again, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. “I also want to know what warning signs we missed during the mission that we’ll keep in mind for next time.” She glanced at him lips pressed together into a thin line. “Did you see anyone from your last trip out there, who could have identified you as an MI6 agent?”

“No. Le Chiffre knew who I was, but I don't know if he ever told anyone else,” Bond said, frowning as he suddenly recalled the woman— _Kuznetsova_ —seconds before she left the Salon Privé. She’d hesitated, eyes full of confusion as he could see her trying to put a name to his face, but he was confident he had never seen her, or Dawson for that matter, before. His jaw flexed when he shifted to another point in the night, to Dawson’s professed mistake. _Had she also hesitated out of recognition of myself or someone else?_

He remembered being at Q’s shoulder while Q prepared the dossiers for the agents and selected Q-Branch personnel to assist with the mission. Q had still been seething from Q-Branch’s frustrating inability to gather any personal details of Émile even with three informants at their disposal. There had been no evidence of Quantum, Bond knew that M would have pulled him in that situation, and the hunt for Émile that ended in Casino Royale also did not carry any traces of the organization’s involvement. _Not to mention that Quantum should have died with its leader in the Bolivian desert._ He slowly exhaled at the sudden memory of Mr. White, present in Venice long enough for the hand-off of the suitcase and for Bond to capture and bring him to M for interrogation. M had nearly died then, when White’s minion tried killing her to free White. Bond never did find out if White was the man’s real name, but Bond had not encountered him since Italy and Greene’s death in Bolivia five years before. Yet…

“Le Chiffre never said anything to Lefèvre, of that, I’m certain. That could indicate that Lefèvre was part of Quantum, and so on bad terms with Le Chiffre because of the money. _But_ ,” he said, turning to 004, who raised a brow. “Lefèvre would not have invited us up otherwise if he knew I was MI6, which he would have found out once it became public within Quantum that Greene was dead, along with the identity of his killer. Yes, Émile knew he had pursuers, but he wouldn’t have known _who_ unless he spoke to someone who knew the mission logistics,” he said, already pulling up a mental list of the Q-Branch staff that Q had selected to assist with the mission. Q had let him view the final list right there in their flat instead of following procedure that time and waiting until the formal mission brief.

“Then that rules out an inside job, because if they had suspected the agents being sent out, they would have mentioned that there were two, not one. Then, if one was especially aware of what was going on, he could have named both of us, not just you. You were singled out,” 004 pointed out, tilting her body to avoid hitting her bad elbow against the wall of the lift. She hesitated, and then shook her head. “It’s looking more and more like perhaps an informant talked, or Q-Branch suffered a leak here,” she said as the lift began to slow its descent. She paused, and then said, “Maybe that’s why Q called for the extraction. Because he felt threatened here.”

“Let’s assess what happened in Q-Branch first,” Bond replied, careful to keep his voice steady and absent of the jolt of fear and irritation at the reminder. He glanced up at the descending light indicating the floors above the door, and adjusted his jacket cuffs as the light finally settled on the indicated floor number with a soft _ding!_

Bond stepped out ahead of 004, but paused long enough so that she could catch up and fall in step beside him before he continued walking down the corridor that ended in the double-glass doors of Q-Branch. “ Out of curiosity, whatever did you do to Lee this time that made Q feel it was necessary to separate the two of you?” she asked, raising a brow when Bond shrugged a shoulder.

“I don’t know for sure, especially since Reardon apparently forgot that I was too busy getting shot at, _in another country_ , to do something to him this time,” he said, pressing the entry code into the control panel outside the front door. He allowed 004 to enter before him as the doors slid open with a soft _hiss_ , the murmur of soft conversations reaching his ears as he entered the main bullpen. He waited a minute to give 004 the lead, and then followed her towards the front of the room.

Bond casually glanced through the room as he slowed his pace, studying each face and attaching a name to it before moving onto the next staff member. He silently attempted to pick out the mission participants— _all of which should be present today, none were on the night staff-_ -from the crowd of techs, silently counting each set of anxious or exhausted eyes, or downward tilt of the mouth. The more alert staff members had either noticed something and were remaining quiet, or hadn’t noticed at all, since he could see a few in the corners clustered around one computer, most likely playing a non-permitted game during a slow moment in the day.

He heard a soft cough from 004, and finished his headcount with Marcela when he looked up to see 004 tilt her head slightly in the second-in-command’s direction. R had propped his head in his left hand as he continued typing with his right, dark circles visible under his eyes even from where Bond stood. Bond frowned, but kept his peace as he approached the desk and studied R’s haggard appearance, feeling a twinge of concern in his stomach as he realized that Q would most likely not be better off. He glanced at 004 and murmured, “All are present and accounted for, the numbers before and after match.”

She nodded, but didn’t reply, instead putting on a bright smile as she and Bond walked the last few feet to R’s desk. Bond schooled his expression into one of benign interest as he and 004 stopped in front of R, attracting the attention of the four techs that worked near the front. Bond inclined his head towards them in silent greeting, but leaned forward on R’s desk when the other didn’t immediately react.

“Excuse me,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Yes, what do you want—Christ! Bond!” R snapped, flinching when he looked up to see Bond nearly towering above him, and then flinched again when 004 moved to stand beside Bond. R then sighed, straightening in his char as he rubbed his temples. “Right, equipment return. Just give me a moment,” he said, blinking a few times before he straightened his spine, twisting his body to each side before he leaned over to the side.

“Everything all right?” 004 asked, voice light as R returned with the familiar metal tray and set it on the edge of his workstation.

“As good as they can be. Just give me a moment to pull up the logs from this mission so I can check in your equipment and record what’s left,” R said, studiously avoiding their gaze as he turned his attention back to the monitors. He glanced at Bond, pointedly looked up and down, and then asked in a dry voice, “I assume you have no equipment to return?” as 004 pulled out her Walther and set it in the tray.

“It was the first thing that they took from me when we entered the Salon Privé,” Bond said, ignoring R’s wince as he glanced towards the front of the room, jaw tightening when he saw that no one stood at the workstation there. He looked past R to the familiar closed office door, the control panel light blinking red. _Locked: doesn’t want to be disturbed._ “Excuse me,” he said before moving around the desk, not missing the way R didn’t fight him for once as he walked to the door. He typed in the four-digit entry code into the small control panel and pressed ‘Enter’ before leaning back on a foot, his heart lightening when the light switched to green with a faint _beep_. Pulling the door handle down, he pushed the door open, the hinges silent as he slipped into a darkened office.

Carefully closing the door behind him, he felt tension drain out of his shoulders when he surveyed the small yet familiar room, noting that someone had draped several blankets over the back of the couch. He turned towards the desk and the only source of light in the room from the desk lamp. Q himself was leaning back in his chair, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he stared at the monitor, brows pulled together sharply in a frown with deep-set lines etched in his skin. _Stressed, but more importantly, he’s all right._ Bond made a point of shuffling across the carpet as he walked towards the desk and pulled out a chair, rolling his shoulders back before quietly sitting down across from his husband. He then looked up in time to see Q turn towards him with knitted brows, the worry vanishing from his expression in the following second and turning into a tired smile, which prompted a small, involuntary grin from Bond.

Q suddenly looked confused and turned right back to his monitor before he scowled at the screen. “Yes, yes, I know, I’ll handle that part. _You_ just deal with the flat and take an inventory of all loose items that can be collected and sent back to London for further analysis,” Q finally said, leaning back without looking away from his screen. “If you encounter anyone in the process, detain them long enough to question them about the occupants. If you happen to detain the occupants, contact me immediately and we’ll arrange for an interrogator to travel to you,” he said, typing a few more commands. He remained silent for a few seconds before he said, “Very well, thank you, Commander Ross. Yes…they have both arrived here safely, one is returning equipment and the other is hiding from Medical. Yes…thank you, goodbye.”

“What did he want?” Bond asked the moment Q set the phone back in the cradle.

“Ross’s techs found the ghost of a scrubbed external signal in the Casino Royale networks as they were acquiring the security tapes for me, so they spent all day yesterday tracing the signal back to a flat that had been rented out for six months. Ross is planning to raid it today and wanted to know if I needed him to do something specific while he was there,” Q said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “Don’t worry about it, the information has to deal with something that happened here,” he said, frowning when Bond raised a brow. “What?”

“Does that have anything to do with you calling for the extraction? Papava and I worked on less time before, we could have finished the mission before escaping Montenegro,” Bond said, carefully choosing his words as he watched Q’s expression slide from confusion to slight exasperation. “We could have used the confusion as a way to get back to Émile to kill him, or lay low to keep an eye on him so that we could move once everything calmed down again,” he explained, taking a few deep breaths to remain calm when Q started to shake his head.

“I called for the extraction because for one, the two of you were compromised, Q-Branch was compromised, and I had no idea, at the time, of how deep the problem ran since an external hacker was attempting to isolate us by going into our servers and take control of our communications,” Q said calmly, Bond falling still at his words as the remnants of his anger dissipated into nonexistence. “Émile was still upstairs, and there were countless civilians in a live crossfire,” he added, stiffening when the printer behind him suddenly whirred to life, breaking the almost silence in the room.

“Papava and I think it may have been a leak because someone knew that I was coming to Casino Royale, but I didn't recognize anyone at the casino in the hours leading up to the fight,” he said, frowning when Q shook his head again. “What do you think?” he asked as Q leaned back to pick up the three sheets of paper that had come out of the printer and spread them out on his desk, text side up.

Q sighed. "It wasn't an inside job, someone would have had to hack into the system to find my credentials and then use them to alert Ross to your arrival. A hack I _definitely_ would have noticed if it came from here,” Q said grimly as he tapped one of the sheets as Bond felt a thread of ice in his stomach. “I informed M last night, once I changed my credentials and other personal codes at least three times and made them as strong as I could. That’s how deep the problem ran, James,” he said quietly, swallowing as he paused to catch his breath. “Someone could have contacted you and relayed false orders. Hence, the second reason for the extraction,” he said, meeting Bond’s gaze as he folded his arms loosely across his chest. "As for the informants...all three were vetted carefully, one is even under CIA control."

Bond slowly exhaled, the pieces rearranging themselves in his mind. “And what has Émile done in the meantime?” he asked, looking up at Q.

“Disappeared, taking his wife and retinue with him. Lefèvre and the other members of the party are still acting as though nothing happened, they were all having lunch together on a yacht in the Mediterranean last I checked, and Kuznetsova was last seen in St. Petersburg before she vanished,” Q said, leaning forward to study the forms on his desk.

“And we’re not doing anything about that because?” Bond prompted, easily reaching out with his left hand and wrapping Q’s free hand in his own, rubbing a thumb over the familiar skin as he felt the urge to reach over and kiss him. He glanced at the wall clock— _four more hours_ —and then tampered down the urge to walk around the desk and pull Q into the familiar tight embrace that always calmed them both. M's few stipulations regarding workplace behavior remained the only barrier between him and his husband, and not for the first time, he silently chafed at the new rules. 

“We’re not doing anything about Lefèvre yet because double-oh three will question him once he’s done in Vienna, and M wants gather intel on Kuznetsova's employers before he sends a Double-O after her,” Q said, turning his hand to curl his fingers around Bond’s, brows knitting together as he studied the two forms. “But you may have a new target soon, once we can pull a profile together with these,” he said, pushing a form across for Bond’s perusal as he kept the other.

“What are they?” Bond asked, studying the name at the top— _Cornelius Tschoepe_ —before scanning through payment and contract details.

“Lease agreements on file for the flat implicated in the Casino Royale hacks that weren’t ours, the one that Ross is probably raiding right now,” Q said as he studied the one in his hand. “I just want to know if either of them was the hacker that got into our system, or if they were framed bystanders unlucky enough to get caught up in this mess.” He looked up at Bond with a raised brow. “Do the names of Cornelius and Annaliese Tschoepe mean anything to you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

 “No, not off the top of my head.” Bond studied the form for a few more minutes before pushing it back across the desk to Q. “Maybe Interpol has something on them?” he suggested, and Q shrugged with both shoulders before taking the two forms and the third sheet before placing them in a folder, which he slipped into an unknown drawer.

“I’ll check tonight. Right now, I have preparations for a meeting with the Ministry of Defence to get back to, but you’re welcome to stay in the bullpen, kip on the couch, or go see O’Reilly,” he said, looking pointedly at Bond’s bare left hand, and Bond merely feigned a wounded expression before Q turned back to his screen with a small half-smile.

_Knock, knock._

Q pressed a button on the base of his desktop monitor, jaw flexing slightly as he turned back around in his chair again. “Come in,” he said, straightening in his chair as the door swung forward and Marcela stepped in, coming to a complete stop as she spotted Bond sitting in the visitors’ chair. “Marcela, what can I do for you?” Q asked before she could speak, bringing her attention back to himself and away from Bond.

She glanced at Bond again, face turning slightly scarlet before she asked, “I’m, erm, not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, of course not. Bond was just finishing his debrief of his recent mission, I had hoped to have more light shed on the complication that caused everything to fall apart,” Q said calmly. When Marcela glanced at him, Bond nodded once as though in confirmation. “But what can I help you with?” Q repeated, and Marcela cleared her throat, leaning back on a foot as she glanced at Bond before turning her attention to Q again.

“M is here, wanted a word about something regarding MI5,” she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Also, it’s almost time for double-oh five’s check in, and R thought you would want to handle that one yourself due to the recent, er, change in circumstances,” she added, relaxing slightly when Q nodded in confirmation.

“Very well, thank you. I’ll be out in just a moment,” he said, offering a quick smile before pushing his chair back to stand up. Bond inclined his head once to Marcela as she stepped back out of the office, quietly closing the door behind her. He turned back to Q, who powered down his monitor before walking around his desk. “One thing at a time, I suppose. Since Moscow is still standing, I’m assuming that double-oh five is actually behaving himself for once, which is a relief,” Q said, smiling once at Bond as he used a folder to shoo the agent towards the door. “You, in the meantime, can either go to Medical or write up your After-Action Report,” he said, making a face when Bond leaned over and took the tablet that had been resting near the desktop.

“You did say I could write up my report instead of going to Medical,” Bond said, smirking as he turned to leave the office, grinning to himself when he heard Q sigh behind him. “And besides, Reardon is in Medical right now and you asked that I stay away from him, remember?” he said, glancing over his shoulder as Q grimaced at the reminder. “So I’ll wait until he’s gone.”

“Then I’ll let you know when he’s gone,” Q said, leaning forward to gently kiss Bond for the first time in weeks, and Bond took the opportunity to wrap a loose arm around Q’s waist and hold him close, breathing him in before Q wiggled free. Q squeezed his hand once before he slipped past Bond and out the door.

Bond merely shook his head with a small half-smile before he followed Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to tokyotheglaive for her beta help with the story.


	4. Chapter 4

_Almost forty-eight hours later and we finally have a definitive suspect._

Q glanced across the bullpen as he approached his own workstation in the front of the room, vaguely hearing his office door close a second time as Bond slipped outside, presumably to take up his usual spot at Q’s workstation. Q kept his face impassive despite the unease curling in the bottom of his stomach— _it couldn’t have been an inside job, because I would have noticed something when repairing the primary communication module last night._ Pressing his lips together into a thin line, Q stopped in front of his computer and typed in a few commands to unlock the monitor. He didn’t react to the familiar flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye as Bond crossed behind him to claim the usual empty chair; instead, he pulled up the audio transcripts from the most recent mission, making a noise in the back of his throat when he noted the number of electronic flags within the files. “It’s going to be a pain in the arse to filter all of this later,” he muttered under his breath as he saved his copy of the transcripts before sending them along to two of his analysts.

“Sir?”

“Yes—oh, thank you,” Q said, straightening up when he saw Marcela approaching him, a wireless headset held tightly in her hands. “Is double-oh five on the line now?” he asked, brow furrowing as she gave him the headset before she shook her head. “Any indication, then, when he’ll be online for his check-in?” he asked as he slipped the headset on, lowering the mouthpiece as she shook her head again.

“No, he hasn’t sent out any warning blips yet even though there’s five minutes before the arranged check-in time, so Peter and I both think that he’ll be checking in a little later than usual, nothing he hasn’t done before,” she said, gesturing towards her workstation. “I thought that when he does get through, we’ll just transfer him directly to you so we don’t lose any time that could be better spent talking, especially since we’re taking enough risks with our little incursion into Moscow,” she explained as Q nodded once, glancing at her for a second as he pulled up his email.

“All right, thank you.” Q pulled up the email from Ross that had the lease agreements attached to it. “In the meantime, can you assign two-man surveillance teams to the Hollins couple and Gabriel Dawson, and ask them to discreetly monitor those three from a distance?” he asked, glancing up at Marcela, who nodded. “A report every twenty-four hours should be enough, and an updated log of everyone they make contact with. One will eventually lead us back to Émile, at which point we’ll send in one of the double-ohs,” he said, pulling up the electronic copies of the lease agreements, saving the attachments to a new email. “In the meantime, please locate the three informants so that we may question them further.”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?” Marcela asked, starting to take a step back.

Q gestured that she step closer before he leaned forward as well. “In several hours, if not already, Commander Ross will be detaining two potential suspects in the security breach here. I am emailing you the only information we have on them, and I want you and your teams to try and compile more background information on them, namely any associates that they may have and see if there are any intersections with Émile’s associates. They could just be independent hackers with poor timing, but I need to know for sure,” Q explained softly as he used a foot to reclaim his own chair, pulling it closer so he could sit down. He returned his attention to the email, eyes flickering across the screen as he quietly encrypted the message from Ross and the attachments before pressing the ‘Send’ button. Then he leaned back in his chair, inclining his head towards Marcela as he returned his attention to her. “And of course, let me know if Émile resurfaces with all pertinent information.” He tapped the headset. “Thank you for this.”

 “You're welcome, sir.” Marcela glanced off to Q’s left, raising a pointed brow before she turned and walked back to her desk.

Q knew who was sidling up behind him before the man cast a shadow over his shoulder. “Is there a question with the report that you need assistance with?” he asked without turning around to face Bond, instead tilting his head when he felt Bond wrap a gentle hand around his ribs as he came to stand beside Q, leaning back against the workstation. “Or are you here because you finished with your report and want to read my side of the mission?” he asked, raising a brow when Bond offered the familiar half-smile that usually meant more often than not that his report would go unfinished for another day or so. Q made a face before minimizing his program to keep Bond from reading the text, putting on an innocent expression when Bond faintly scowled at him.

“Have you got any background information on Émile’s companions that would be useful in tracking down mutual associates? It might help the teams locate them faster and then they could spend more time tracing the line back to Émile instead of doing surveillance,” Bond said, his jaw twitching when Q raised a brow and read the silent challenge in the familiar blue eyes. “Especially Kuznetsova; if she’s the financer, then her network may intersect with Émile’s more often than anyone else’s,” Bond added, stepping away so that Q could better reach his computer. “Not to mention that she was the only other person other than Dawson to show more than a passing interest in me when she left the Salon Privé.”

“Well, according to the security camera time stamps, she was outside the casino main entrance and on her mobile when the casino employee went upstairs to tell Lefèvre that you had a call downstairs,” Q said, pulling up one of the few ‘borrowed’ security videos from the casino before he pointed to the blurry blond and silver figure. Head bowed over something neither man could see, she stepped away from the main doors a moment later, her hand lowering away from her ear. “Her car arrives approximately the same time that you’re already walking down the stairs.” Q pulled up the mission timeline in the background, scrolling down until he found the closest time stamp to the one in the video. “And she leaves when the firefight starts. Since she was the only one, other then the employee, to leave the room, chances are likely she called Émile’s guards on you. Which is why we were already collecting information on her before Émile disappeared,” Q said, reaching for the mouse to shut down the video program.

“Did you find out who her father was, while you were at it?” Bond asked, easily reaching around Q and snatching the mouse from Q’s fingers to restart the video.

Q nodded. “We tried. We found her birth records at the Mariinsky Hospital in St. Petersburg, but the father portion of the birth certificate was left blank, and there was a note in her file that according to her mother and maternal relatives, the father was killed in action a few months prior, in an unnamed conflict,” he replied, leaning back while still mindful of Bond’s steady presence behind him. Professionalism had been one of M’s stipulations for letting them both work in their fields undisturbed after their marriage, but Bond had always been one to test the boundaries at his leisure, even before they had started dating each other.

“Unnamed conflicts could be anything from war or an illegal deal gone wrong,” Bond said, allowing Q to reclaim the mouse. “My personal guess is the latter, since Dawson, as we all know, deals in weaponry of some kind, and he momentarily mistook me for her father. Which tells us that he knew the father very well,” he remarked as he moved closer as though to study the screen, resting his hands on either side of Q. He didn’t speak, aware that Bond could still be trying to calm down without stepping over M’s or Q’s lines. Q could still also recall the momentary fear in Bond’s eyes when he entered the office earlier, had even meant to ask, but chose to let it lie now.

“Whatever the case may be, I don’t think that her father is in MI6 records. Either way, it doesn’t answer the question of how she recognized you as MI6,” Q said instead, carefully turning around in the cage of Bond’s arms to face the agent. Leaning back against the desk, he said quietly, “My first thought had been a spurned paramour, but as far as I know, she didn’t appear in any of your mission files. Did she look familiar to you?” he asked quietly, suspecting that the quiet concern in Bond’s familiar blue eyes mirrored his own.

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. She could have been a witness that got away at some point.” Bond stepped away from the desk, fixing his jacket cuffs as he glanced back at Q, a ghost of…something darting across his face as he looked past Q’s shoulder for a split second. The words ‘ _I hate not knowing’_ went unsaid, but Q heard them well enough. “We could also see if double-oh five has heard of her through his own contacts, there has to be a reason why she chose to go there,” Bond added, looking back at Q before gesturing to something over Q’s shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, mouth twitching to barely conceal a smirk when Q heard someone clear their throat behind him

“Of course.” Q then turned around, swallowing back his unvoiced questions as he faced the director, who looked as tired as Q felt. Bond, he noticed, had moved away to give the two of them space, but still lingered nearby, close enough to listen to the conversation under the pretense of filling out the report. _Still anxious, then._ “Sir, Marcela said you wanted to see me about something?” he asked, focusing his attention on M as he flexed his right hand against the desk to ease the ache he could feel forming in his wrist.

“Yes. Director Farrows, from Five, wants to ask for yet another favor from us, this time regarding his tech department. I told him that I would pass the message along, but the final decision was ultimately yours,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching when Q narrowed his eyes and felt a twinge of mild curiosity and irritation.

 _What? Is he serious?_ “He _does_ know that we’re in the middle of cleaning up one of his messes, one that inadvertently got us back on the Minister of Defence’s bad side, right?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm and steady. “What does he want this time?”

M glanced to the side, evidently checking for eavesdroppers. “He said that he’s well aware of not only what happened here the other night, but also that he’ll be in our debt for quite some time,” he said quietly, glancing down at the stack of documents near Q’s monitor. Q followed his line of sight, but said nothing when he spotted the equipment release form on the top before looking back up at M, who shook his head before continuing to speak. “Anyway, he wanted to know if you could help finish training a few of his recruits; there are five and they were almost done with their work when Émile struck at the official, and the attack apparently threw his department into disarray as they tried to catch him before he could flee the country. Apparently, the recruits have one module left to complete, if that means anything to you,” M said, raising a brow when Q hesitated, but then nodded.

“Unfortunately, it does. It requires professional supervision, which is what he really wants me to arrange. Which tells me that his men are still tied up with looking for any leads here.” Q ran a tired hand through his hair and briefly closed his eyes to fight back the urge to press M for Farrows’ reasons for selecting him. _Especially when Farrows knows that we’re busy with our own missions on top of his_.He released a slow sigh to drain the tension from his shoulders, and then looked up at M again. “Tell him…tell him that I would like the time to consider his request, and that I would like a list of the recruits he has in mind so that I can run my own background checks on them,” he said, relaxing and straightening his spine when M inclined his head once in agreement.

“Sounds reasonable. I’ll pass along your reply to him after the meeting this afternoon and tell him that any further exchanges about this matter remain between the two of you, and you just keep me updated as we move along,” he said, eyes flickering to a point on Q’s left— _James._ “Should I consider making a new rule for this afternoon’s meeting that all weapons be left at the door?” M asked after a moment’s thought, but Q shook his head.

“No, sir. R marked on double-oh seven’s log that the gun was first confiscated, and then destroyed to prevent duplication of the technology,” Q replied, leaning over to the left to pull his laptop closer so that he could pull up the logs and double-check it for himself. “And I don’t plan to issue anything new to him until his next dossier arrives on my desk,” he said, his eyes flickering towards M before he saw something flicker on the laptop screen out of the corner of his eye, dragging his attention back to it. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the notification in the corner of the screen, but did not call attention to it, instead choosing to slowly close the laptop lid as to not draw further attention to the screen.

M didn’t seem to notice. “The next dossier may not come for a while, given the outcome of this most recent mission. Has someone followed up with the informants yet?” he asked, turning around to scan the few techs working near the front of the room. “There’s always the chance that Bond was always the target, and we just happened to set it up so that the opponent had easy access to him this time,” he said, glancing at Q when Q gestured discreetly towards Peter’s desk, the other man bowed over something on his tablet and unaware of the two of them watching him.

“Already gave the order, sir,” Q said, steadily meeting M’s gaze.

“That’s good to know, let me know when you find them. Double-oh seven?” M said, stepping away from the desk to better see Bond, who looked up from his half-finished report and leaned back in his chair. “Did you recognize anyone at that table, by face or by name?” M asked, voice deceptively calm even to Q’s ears.

Something flickered in Bond’s eyes— _he must have heard it as well_. “No, sir.”

“And Q. Based on what you heard, did you recognize anyone at the table?”

“No, sir.” Q didn’t recognize the Tschoepe couple either, but he knew that didn’t mean he couldn’t locate someone who did. Even in a world of digital names and forged IP addresses, something always had a real programmer on the other side of the keyboard. A programmer that an agent could locate and then hunt down for the capture or kill. He glanced almost involuntarily towards Bond, catching the agent’s eye only to receive a slight tilt of the head and a raised brow. _We’ll talk later._ He cleared his throat as he turned back to M, and then said, “If that’s all, sir, I need to check a prototype in the labs for a moment before double-oh five checks in for his reports. Is there anything else?” he asked, turning to leave when M nodded once.

“Of course. Bond, you may stay here, I have one final question for you,” M said, raising his hand in warning to stop Bond as the agent started to stand up.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Q then left the bullpen.

Compared to TSS, the front three small labs in R&D had enough of a lively atmosphere that Q found himself mindful of where he walked, only pausing by one door when he heard a muffled _thump_ on the other side of the door. After quickly checking the two techs inside and found that it was only a backfired prototype that had missed the testers, he closed the door again and headed for lab that the computer notification had indicated in its message— _Room 37B, meant for disarming bio-hazardous materials._

Noting that the status indicator was green, he quickly knocked on the door twice before pulling it open and walking inside. The black case from Archives sat innocently on the worktable farthest from the door, four techs wearing biohazard suits standing around the table. Two wore safety goggles around their necks, and a third had dark soot all down the front of the suit. All four straightened as he approached them, and he recognized them as one of R’s senior analyst teams. _That bad?_ He then looked down at the case itself, noting the numerous holes around the edge. “Avery, your professional opinion?” he asked, cautiously kneeling down in front of the case to examine it at eye-level.

“Well, it’s definitely one of Boothroyd’s designs. In addition to the knife that got Reardon, we found three chloroform gas canisters and a few darts,” Avery said, adjusting her soot-stained cuffs. “All external defenses, although designed to be non-lethal distractions, have been disarmed, so technically it’s safe to remove it from the building,” she said when Q looked up at her. “ _But_ ,” she began slowly, catching Q’s attention again. “When we ran scans to determine the contents, we did pick up considerable fluid in both lids. We think it may be set up like a cryptex, with acid or something flammable to destroy the contents if the lid is forced open.”

“What makes you think there’s a possibility that the liquid is flammable?” Q asked, eyeing the case for a moment as one of the techs—Stephen—leaned forward and flipped up the front clasp, revealing four numbered dials.

“Both lids are fireproof. Force it open, all it would take is one spark to set it aflame and you have a small bomb in your hands that is also directed at your face,” she said bluntly, and Q nodded quietly and leaned forward to turn the now-clean case around so he could see the other side. “As for the zero-zero-seven, we may think it has something to do with one of Bond’s predecessors. We found the archival box that it came from, and the box contained papers that dated back as far as 1990,” she explained, glancing at one of the others for confirmation, who nodded once in response.

“All right, I’ll ask M for the agent’s name, then. Thank you, all of you, for analyzing this, I think I’ll still take it home and take a look at the lock combination tonight. Any biometrics that I should be aware of?” he asked, glancing up at Stephen.

“Not that we know of. Boothroyd did dabble in biometrics, but this case had too many armaments to add in the biometric technology of the time,” Stephen said, glancing at his partner, who hesitated, but then inclined his head in agreement. “If biometrics do appear, we can try to scan for any leftover prints. We only ever found three sets during the initial tests: yours, Reardon’s, and Boothroyd’s.”

 _Which means that the agent in question never received it._ He didn’t have to say it aloud, but he knew that they had all reached the same conclusion. While not a surprise—anything could happen on a mission—that Boothroyd chose to save it was another matter altogether. “All right, thank you again,” Q said, smiling in an attempt to put the four techs at ease as he reached for the case, pressing the clasp back down to conceal the dials. “I’ll let you know if I make any progress on it tonight.”

“You’re welcome, sir, and thank you.”

Q inclined his head before he turned and left the room, following the hall back to the entrance of R&D. His stomach twisted when he glanced at his watch and found that while he still had thirty minutes left before his meeting with the Ministry of Defence, 005 was twenty minutes overdue for his check-in. Making a mental note to check the agent’s vitals before heading to the meeting, he lowered the case to his side, careful to keep it from banging it against his leg. Logically, he knew that it was possible that 005 couldn’t report in this time, whether due to the risks in his environment or situation, but at the same time, the criminal underworld in Moscow always ran the risk of shifting balances at the last minute, and could leave 005 flat-footed at the last minute.

_I’ll try to call him after the meeting. Keep the headset, but wait until after for contact, give him more time if he needs it._

Without warning, a shadow detached itself from the wall out of the corner of his eye and he jerked back in surprise, a jolt of adrenaline surging through his veins until he recognized Bond approaching him. “Is everything all right? What did M want?” he asked as he shifted the case to his other hand. Bond didn’t reply at first, just fell into step beside him with his face betraying nothing except the usual calm Q saw from him.

“Had a few more questions about Émile’s friends, but I couldn’t give him any more than what I had in the report. Then he asked that I accompany you to the meeting, only because he wanted to have Papava and I present as well to supplement any information if necessary,” he said, quirking a half-smile as he glanced at Q. “What’s in there?” he asked as his eyes slid down to the case on Q’s other side, not bothering to hide the interest in his voice at all.

“Nothing of yours, which means I have to talk to Reardon down in Medical so the two of you can be in the same room again. _Then_ I’ll go deal with the Ministry of Defence, as entertaining as that may be,” Q said, grinning despite himself as he used his shoulder to block Bond’s attempt to reach in front of him and snag the handle. “And if anyone is getting first looks at the contents tonight, it will be me. I don’t think there are weapons in here, but you never know,” he said, suppressing a shudder at the thought of the liquid in the lids. _What are you trying to protect?_

“You’re not bringing that _home_ , are you?” Bond asked, a note of faint disbelief audible in his voice.

“It’s been disarmed, and I’ll check it over one more time before we leave,” Q countered, not missing the still present skepticism in Bond’s eyes. “The only ‘weapon’ left is the liquid in the lids, meant to destroy the contents if we try to tamper with the clasps,” he explained, the two of them stopping in front of the door that led back into the bullpen.  “Non-digital combination, you might like it,” he said, shaking his head when Bond nodded thoughtfully.

“If that’s an offer, I may take you up on it.” He tilted his head towards the door. “Shall we?”

Q nodded. “Lead the way, double-oh seven,” he said, transferring the case again, just in case, when Bond shifted his stance towards him.

“With your guidance, Quartermaster,” Bond replied before pushing the door open, leaning against it to keep it open to let Q through into the main bullpen.

Q merely shook his head with a fond smile before he stepped forward.


	5. Chapter 5

“He can’t be serious.”

Q looked up from his mobile at Bond, who was leaning against the back of the lift wall with still slightly tensed shoulders. “Who, Reardon or O’Reilly?” he asked, steadying himself as the car rocked a bit. “Because if it’s the former, then his threat would be technically illegal and he’d risk treason charges for carrying it out. If it’s the latter, well, maybe that’s just something he wants you to think so that you won’t challenge him again in the future,” he suggested as Bond snorted in disbelief. Shaking his head with a slight smile, Q looked back down at his mobile, attempting to ignore the time as he scrolled through his email for the meeting location. “Besides, O’Reilly is too busy trying to keep double-ohs _in_ Medical as it is, so I highly doubt he’ll ever try to throw you _out_ ,” he reminded Bond, who scowled and shook his head.

“I’d still like to see him try.” To Q, Bond sounded calmer, if still mildly irritated, from the near physical altercation in Medical with Reardon in the Intensive Care Unit over the false accusations, which only ended when O’Reilly threatened to evict Bond for ‘disturbing the peace’. Q also suspected that Reardon was only miffed at losing a target for his fury over the prolonged stay in Medical because the chemicals were ones that hadn’t been used in years, leaving the Medical staff to scramble to find proper antidotes while keeping him alive.

Bond pushed himself off the wall as the lift came to a gentle stop and rolled his shoulders back, adjusted his jacket cuffs, and then turned as the doors slid open with a soft _ding_. “On the other hand, you have a valid excuse with witnesses as to why we are nearly thirty minutes late to the one meeting that you had today,” he said, grinning as Q grimaced at the reminder. “And it wasn’t even my fault,” he added, reaching around the lift threshold to hold back the door.

“M will probably still blame you. You were supposed to make sure I got here on time, remember?” Q said as he gathered his computer bag. As he walked slowly down the hall, he unzipped one of his bag pockets to check that he still had the two identical memory sticks containing the digital copies of the papers he had grabbed from his office on the way to Medical, and made a face at the mess. “Thought I’d cleaned half of these out,” he muttered, searching through a pile of old bank receipts to find the sticks at the bottom of the pocket.

He hadn’t realized he’d paused in his steps until Bond gently nudged him forward, the lift doors sliding closed behind them. “Well, if M is going to blame me, might as well make it worth it,” Bond said with slight amusement in his voice.

Q looked up at Bond in confusion, but caught the kiss just in time to step back and brace himself. He briefly closed his eyes as he silently reveled in the familiar, warm closeness he’d missed in the last few months, mentally cursing M for insisting on workplace professionalism before he made a soft protest in the back of his throat when Bond pulled away again. “Definitely worth it,” he whispered, grinning when Bond smirked and stepped back to lead the way down the small hall towards the conference room. Q followed, taking a few moments to catch his breath and compose himself.

He briefly felt Bond’s hand, warm and reassuring, on the small of his back as he pushed the conference room door open and quietly walked inside.

Someone had dimmed the lights in the back of the conference room, given that there was only the small audience near the front. He recognized a few of his coworkers and other MI6 personnel on the right side of the room, while the MI5 personnel were on the left. A row of individuals that Q recognized as the Security and Intelligence Committee sat facing the speaker—Farrows and his right hand—whose backs were to Q. He grimaced when he recognized MP Clair Dowell sitting in the center of the room, only relaxing slightly when he noted that she hadn’t spotted him yet; they hadn’t parted well in the last committee meeting after Skyfall, and he’d always suspected she was getting tired of constantly dealing with MI6 mistakes. Biting his lip, he checked that Bond was still behind him before he slid into an empty seat behind M and Eve Moneypenny, who turned with a quick smile as Q settled in his seat. Q nodded once to her, quietly relieved to see another familiar face as Bond took the seat across the small aisle from him.

“Is everything alright?” M asked quietly without looking away as Eve turned forward again.

“There was an unexpected minor problem in Medical that needed to be sorted out,” Q muttered back, moving his bag to the side of the chair. He leaned to the right for a better look at the front of the room, trying to remember the itinerary that M had emailed him only yesterday as he noted the few glances from the committee in his direction. He grimaced when he saw a few raised brows, and one person whispered something to Dowell. _Shit_. “What’s happened so far?” he whispered, leaning forward to look between M’s and Eve’s shoulders.

“Farrows is answering questions about his submitted reports, M went before him,” Eve quietly replied, mouth barely moving as she spoke. “They’re also doing a progress check with Farrows’s investigation, and asking how he plans to prevent a repeat of Roberts’s death. M simply gave an update to our status in the hunt for Émile,” she added, leaning her head back on top of the chair without looking away from the two people standing in the front of the committee. She glanced at Q with a slight wince, and said, “M said you would answer questions about the security breach and mission failure once you arrived.”

“Only because you were in a better position to provide detailed information,” M countered quietly, glancing at Bond when the agent leaned forward as though to get a better look.

Q grimaced, feeling more anxious than annoyed that M had left him with reporting the bad news, but Bond moved and slid into the empty seat on Q’s other side, momentarily distracting him from the committee. “Farrows could start his prevention work with better background checks: Émile was about to offer a lucrative deal when I informed him that I was Roberts’s replacement, and that Scarlett and I were at Casino Royale to celebrate,” Bond whispered, raising a brow when M turned to face him. Q frowned as he also glanced at Bond, trying to recall the particular section in the mission audio transcript. 

“Oh? How much did he offer?” M asked, careful to keep his voice down.

“We never got around to discussing that, Émile and Dawson wanted to double-check with their financer first, and Kuznetsova, the liaison, had just left when Scarlett and I arrived,” Bond quietly explained as Q glanced back to the front of the room to see that Farrows had finished talking, and was in the process of gathering his papers. “But Émile did approach Roberts, who had refused the bribe, which in turn led to Roberts’s death. Émile indicated as much during our discussion,” Bond added when Q turned back to him, Bond’s words tugging at his memory. “They were offering bribery to just look the other way with questionable shipments.”

“If that happened after you entered the room, then M, you don’t have that part yet because R and I are still in the process of verifying the authenticity of that passage,” Q quietly interrupted, glancing at Bond as he relaxed in his seat, recalling where he’d seen the transcript that mirrored Bond’s story. He leaned forward on M’s other side and whispered, “We didn’t know where, if the hacker tampered with the data, the false information started,” he explained as M turned in his seat to look at him. “We just flagged a section of the later dialogue, right before Bond was called down to the lobby, and we can easily send the whole—”

“Quartermaster, how kind of you to finally join us,” Dowell said, her familiar dry voice cutting through Q’s concentration. “Perhaps you would like to come up now and explain how you’ve been handling the aftermath?” she asked in a cool tone that suddenly reminded Q of the last time they had met. He stood up on reflex when she spoke, and squared his shoulders despite the nerves he felt coiling in his stomach as Dowell scanned him over once and said, “Clearly, we are destined to meet under the same circumstances even though I believe we both wished for Skyfall to be the last,” she said calmly, ignoring the silence that fell at the mention of the old operation.

Q felt his stomach turn at the mention of investigation of Skyfall, but didn’t flinch even though he thought he heard Eve hiss, _“Sit down, James!”_ near him. Instead, he offered a thin smile. “Of course, ma’am, but at least we know now not to discount the threat of hackers as a one-time occasion, and that perhaps we should have gone through with the idea of establishing a protocol for handling such cases,” he said, ignoring the soft groan from someone on the Six side of the room.

Dowell’s mouth twitched. Q knew then she remembered exactly whose idea it had been in the first place--his own--and that she had been the one to knock it down. “Of course. Your report please,” she said crisply, straightening in her chair as Q stepped out of the row of chairs and into the aisle.

“Yes, ma’am.” Q caught Eve’s encouraging smile as he stepped out into the aisle and he managed a discrete one in response. Then, ignoring the soft murmurs from the MI5 personnel, he moved out into the small aisle and calmly walked towards the front while masking the nerves he could still feel. Farrows said nothing as Q walked past him, but Q still heard the director mutter something to his right-hand officer as someone in the front row shuffled their feet. Dowell remained silent with her mouth pulled into a thin line as Q set his bag on the table in front of her and the committee.

He carefully scanned the committee table as he opened his bag and pulled out the two sets of papers, careful to keep them separated from each other. Now that he could see Dowell better, he could tell that the stress of the last three years had started to take their toll on her, evident in the lines around her eyes and the gray hair starting to show in the hair framing her face. A quick scan down the committee table told him that there was only one new member to Dowell’s right—M’s former position—whereas he acknowledged that no one else had left. He set his bag down on the now-empty table as Dowell sighed, and said, “Once again, Quartermaster, we meet in the wake of another security breach. I assume that whatever delayed you was something you could handle?”

“Yes ma’am.” Ignoring the barb, he gestured to the two small stacks in front of him as he set the bag down on the ground next to the unnecessary chair. “I will be providing the digital copies of the documentation in front of me to you, ma’am, and to M. What I have here are all the files we could procure on the external individuals involved with Valérian Émile, and the roles they played with the security attack on MI6,” he said, throat slightly dry. “Both groups were scarce in terms of extraneous information, but I will start with the liaison.”

“And who would that be?” Dowell prompted, folding her hands on the table.

“Alisa Kuznetsova, the alleged liaison between Émile and the still-unnamed financers,” Q said, relaxing his shoulders as he found the profile that R had pulled together that morning. “She is also the one who allegedly sold double-oh seven out and exposed him as MI6 to Émile. We do have low-quality security footage suggesting that she made the call to lure double-oh seven downstairs, where the mission went to hell,” he said, glancing down at the sheet that contained what biographical and personal information they could find on her. “Then she went straight from Montenegro to St. Petersburg via Aeroflot Flight 3298, accompanied by two men identified as bodyguards. Upon arrival, the three disappeared into St. Petersburg even though Kuznetsova’s home address on file puts her on the city outskirts,” he explained, glancing up at the committee in time to see that both Dowell and the man on her left were frowning. "As of right now, I simply recommend surveillance until we can ascertain the identity of her employers, and then send a double-oh agent in if it turns out to be necessary,” Q said, directing the second half of his words towards M, who frowned.

 “For now, focus with surveillance on Émile, but keep Kuznetsova as a periphery interest. Do not engage Kuznetsova unless ordered,” Dowell said, her words causing silence to fall amongst the audience members behind Q. “Given MI6’s track record with St. Petersburg,” she said, glancing past Q to someone—M—with a raised brow, “I would also advise two double-ohs, if you can spare two that Kuznetsova will not recognize.” She turned to Q, mouth set into a thin line. “Now, please tell me what information you have regarding the hacks into the MI6 networks,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

Q nodded, pulling out the lease agreements from the second stack of papers. “As of right now, we have two suspects, courtesy of the substation team in Montenegro. Cornelius and Annaliese Tschoepe,” Q said, pulling out the third sheet with the written orders to raid the flat. “Commander Ross and his teams backtracked a signal from the Casino Royale networks, and I asked that he detain them until I can compare electronic traces in their equipment with those left behind in our networks. We don’t have much on them, just their lease agreements, but Ross is confident that it will be enough to identify and arrest them,” he admitted, lightening his voice enough to convey the confidence he did not quite feel himself. _It can’t be that easy, not unless it’s another trap like Silva’s._

“How critical is it that you meet them both?” Dowell asked as Q stepped around the table and carefully laid the lease agreements in front of her. “If it’s not critical, I would recommend allowing the agent retrieving them to kill the one giving the most trouble in order to allow for easier transport back to London for interrogation,” she said as Q turned to return to the table.

Q paused, careful to keep his face controlled, and then he turned to face her as he swallowed; he felt he didn’t have enough information to make that call. He exhaled slowly when he recalled Ross’s words, that they had received the warning about the agents during Q-Branch’s communications blackout. Yet, he still remembered the last time a seasoned hacker was brought to London, and felt that if he looked at Bond, the agent would be thinking the same thing. He shook his head. “No, we’ll bring them both here and isolate them in the tunnels until we’re certain that they cannot pose a threat,” he said, keeping his voice even as he spoke.

For a moment, it looked like Dowell would challenge him. Finally, she shook her head and sighed. “Thank you, Quartermaster, for your report and your time,” she said in a crisp voice, leaving room for no argument in her tone. “Dismissed.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Q gathered his papers and slid them back into his bag. He pulled out one of the two memory sticks and walked up to the committee to set it on the table in front of Dowell. Then he headed back to his chair, picking up his bag along the way and ignoring the murmurs from the Five personnel. Bond moved his gray jacket that he’d placed on Q’s seat as Q slid back into place and set the bag on the ground, glancing at Bond as he leaned back. “What?” he whispered when he caught the minute frown on Bond’s face.

“Why spare the couple?” Bond replied, raising a brow when Q sighed.

"Because right now, we have more questions than answers, and they may be the only ones who can provide them” Q whispered back, almost seeing Bond relax again.

Bond carefully regarded him for a moment, matching Q’s steady gaze with one of his own before he nodded once and turned forward as Dowell cleared her throat and stood up. Q reached out and caught the agent’s hand, wrapping his fingers around Bond’s as Dowell paused to listen to her right-hand man. Then she shook her head and looked forward again.

“M and Director Farrows. I do not want to report to the Minister of Defence that his two lines of safety against threats to the country are failing. I may report this meeting as long as you both complete the following tasks in a timely manner,” she said, her gaze flickering between the two of them. “Director Farrows, listen closely, because this is your second chance.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Farrows calmly replied.

“Finish cleaning up Émile’s mess here in London and carefully screen each candidate for the vacated position,” she said promptly before turning to M. “Mallory, I fear that Émile is only a frayed end in a larger web. Find the damn spider and kill it before it kills us, and then dismantle Kuznetsova’s employers so that they can no longer provide financial assistance to anyone else. Finally, ensure that the hackers will not be a problem. Do what it takes,” she said, her gaze flickering once to Q before settling on M. “Any questions or concerns from anyone in this room?”

Q suppressed the urge to look at M when no one in the room said a word.

“Good. Good evening, everyone, and thank you for updating the situation for us,” Dowell said, leaning back on a foot as conversations slowly resumed in the room.

Bond slipped his jacket back on as Eve leaned her head back on the chair with a groan. “I should have expected the two of you to needle Dowell somehow, even if it was to prove a point,” she said, raising a brow at Q, who shrugged with one shoulder.

“But it was relevant,” he replied as he leaned forward to pull the second memory stick out of the pocket.

“Two agents after a liaison officer…isn’t that overkill?” Bond asked, a wary expression crossing his face when M shook his head.

“Not really, I may even send three if it comes to that. My predecessor stated that in the last run to St. Petersburg, in 2005, she’d sent two double-ohs after a mafia leader, and one agent was murdered while the second barely escaped with his life. They were supposed to make contact with the Zukovsky family, but something went wrong and the family representatives never arrived to the rendezvous. Instead, the agents were ambushed by business rivals,” M said, Q pausing to stare at him in surprise. “The first agent was sniped, and the other fled the city that night with the rivals right behind him. My predecessor noted that the agent claimed that the rivals were putting in quite an effort to ensure that no witnesses survived. She recommended three for the next trip into the city.”

“Isn’t double-oh five with the Zukovsky family now?” Q asked, frowning as he recognized the name. He passed the memory stick to M as the director nodded.

“Yes, but in Moscow. St. Petersburg is something of a lethal anomaly now,” M said grimly as he pocketed the memory stick. “Now Q, double-oh seven, I’d suggest calling it a day and reporting back tomorrow morning at the same time. Take care of anything that you need to, but I’m releasing you both for now.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bond stood up as Q zipped the pocket back up.

“I’ll have Bond look over the transcripts tonight to verify the authenticity of the documentations, and send the updated copy to you,” Q said, grimacing at the reminder as he slung the strap over his shoulder and stood up. “I just need to stop in my office and grab something, but do you need to get anything?” he asked Bond, who shook his head and gestured for Q to leave.

“No, but if you’re bringing that damn case, I’ll grab the emergency kit from Medical, it’s better stocked than the one we have at home,” Bond said, the corner of his mouth twitching when Q turned sharply to face him in the hall just outside the conference room entrance.

“James, R&D disarmed it!”

“It’s Boothroyd’s handiwork for a double-oh agent, and more armed than what I’m used to from him. And from you, for that matter,” Bond said, grinning unapologetically as Q bristled and feigned a swipe. He caught Q’s hand and leaned forward. “Besides, you also know how I feel about work at home,” he whispered before Q met him for another gentle kiss. His fingers flexed around Q’s wrist, and he rested his forehead against Q’s.

Q closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the familiar warmth and security.

“One hour?” he offered, opening his eyes at the same time as Bond.

Bond nodded. “One hour, and then we put everything away, regardless of where you are,” he said, quirking a familiar half-smile when Q let out a soft huff.

“Deal.”


End file.
